Every Open Door Before Me

This morning there's a lump  
in my stomach or heart
I'm realizing the truth of my art
 
No way can I continue hoping  
for not only myself  
But for books like mine that  
can't make it to my shelf
 
I wish I could read books that barely sell
By other moms stuck in invisibility hell
 
I felt so dark when I realized  
I could only search bestsellers
Not undiscovered books
 
All the mom books sell  
for an arm and a leg
I am priced out of reviewing  
my better selling peers
 
For now  
 
And I can't find books  
from women like me
Who are just struggling  
in the shadows  
 
What's sad is i question myself
 
Or even worse, I think  
I'm wearing a hat that  
already fell off my head
 
still prisoner to a "reality"
that is currently dead
 
Rumors told me whispers in my ear:
 
Shadows are supposed to be  
a place of honor for mothers
 
Like a wind for younger wings
a ghost that simply blows
 
Right?
 
Life seems to say
 
I just don't understand anything  
That's all
 
When we sold my breastfeeding video  
And the team was with me
 
I sold em
 
But not a woman alone
 
Married to a man in motion  
on a full sprint chase
I am following and  
already out of breath
 
He doesn't need my wind or my wings
He is the mighty hurricane  
 
But he somehow doesn't seem to know  
his own power or direction  
 
or that he's in the spotlight now
God's got the bridle on his seasons
The big story is going down  
 
I'm just a little author  
beneath the weather pattern  
living my own way in his garden  
 
A little weedy sapling  
still trying to grow  
 
I'm pretty much used to him
being there to hold  
every open door before me
 
This is so different  
How do we do this?